


Steps to Success

by neveralarch



Series: Banners from the Turrets/The Servant Has No Such Ambition [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Praise Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 15:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Megatron wants Rung to remain as Decepticon Chief Medical Officer. Rung wants Megatron to realize his ideals and be a better leader. Starscream wants to overthrow Megatron and rule the Decepticons.No one gets exactly what they want.





	Steps to Success

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU continuation of [The Snap of the Spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628470), which is itself an AU of [The Servant Has No Such Ambitions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687819). Thanks very much to [DesdemonaKaylose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose) for letting me play with the Decepticon Rung concept, and for cheerleading as I fell deeper down the rabbit hole.
> 
> This fic contains robot sex (sticky), including non-negotiated praise and degradation kink, property destruction, jealousy, and the misuse of management techniques to solve relationship problems. Please let me know if you need details.

"I'm sorry," muttered Aglet, sullenly. He'd sunk down into Rung's new comfortable guest chair, as if he could disappear into the padding.

Rung had only _mentioned_ to Megatron that he didn’t like the standard-issue bare metal chairs. They made long sessions difficult, the physical discomfort increasing his patients’ mental distress. The new chair had appeared a few orns later, its cushioning almost opulent compared to the austerity of the Decepticon command ship.

Now Rung thought it might be better to bring out the metal chairs for staff meetings like this. He arranged his features into something stern yet understanding. "I'm not asking for an apology. This is a learning experience."

Aglet didn't look like he agreed. "I was being helpful."

"You have to think about who you were helping." Rung leaned over the desk, trying to bridge the gap separating CMO and trainee therapist. "Between your superior officer and your patient, who deserves your loyalty more?"

"The officer," said Aglet, confidently.

Rung suppressed a sigh. "The _patient_. You're his advocate, Aglet. You need to be able to tell the officer no if you're asked to do something unethical."

"Turmoil didn't ask me to do anything unethical," said Aglet, which Rung sincerely doubted. "He just said he needed more soldiers at the front."

"And was your patient ready to go back to the front?" asked Rung.

Aglet hesitated. A good sign. If he could recognize the problem, he was still trainable.

"Small problems become large problems when you ignore them," said Rung. "And large problems become disasters. Next time Turmoil tries to interfere with your sessions, remind him that you are in _my_ chain of command, and—"

Someone knocked, two deep raps against Rung's door.

"Just a moment," called Rung, then turned his attention back to Aglet. "And tell Turmoil I'm still waiting to meet with him about best management practices for mental health. He's been ignoring my comms."

The door opened. This time Rung did allow himself to sigh. "Just a moment, I said."

"I'm afraid I'm on a tight schedule." Megatron leaned against the doorframe. "I can come back in a few joors if—"

"We just finished!" squeaked Aglet, struggling to get out of the chair. "Sir! Thank you!"

"Remember to tell Turmoil!" Rung called after Aglet, but Megatron had stepped out of the doorway and Aglet was already halfway down the corridor. Megatron took Aglet's place in the comfortable chair, his bulk fitting easily and the armrests at a perfect height for his elbows. Rung wondered if the chair had been ordered with that in mind.

It would be typical of Megatron, to give Rung a gift meant for himself. His every move seemed calculated to draw Rung in deeper, to build more places for himself in Rung’s life. Even as Megatron changed into a mech that Rung wasn’t sure he wanted there.

“You’re thinking too much.” Megatron smiled, a brief glimpse of uncalculated affection. "Do you need me to intervene?"

"No." Rung shuffled the datapads and flimsies on his desk, tucking away the patient files he'd been discussing with Aglet. "Aglet's doing his best, he just needs experience. And the confidence to stand up to Turmoil. He should still be studying, not seeing patients, but—"

"But you can't be everywhere." Megatron reached out to lay a comforting hand over Rung's smaller one. "He'll get better with time."

"Mm." Rung's frame relaxed, treacherously. Intellectually he knew that Megatron was only placating him, but his processor had learned that Megatron's touch met _comfort_ and _pleasure_. You didn't become immune to instinct just because you knew how it worked.

"Are you planning to remain until Aglet's training is complete?" Megatron's hand tightened minutely against Rung's fingers. 

"What?" Rung squinted at Megatron, trying to decipher the new twist in Megatron’s mouth. "Yes, of course. Am I going somewhere?"

"That’s what I’m asking." Megatron squeezed Rung's hand again, then withdrew. "Starscream told me you were planning to leave."

Ah. Rung wondered how far Megatron had pushed Starscream this time, that Starscream had thrown that in Megatron's face. Rung should have known that Starscream would turn Rung’s offer of help into a weapon. Had Megatron come straight here from an argument? No, he was too calm. He’d mulled it over first, letting his frustration simmer to resignation.

“I won’t defect,” Rung promised. “But—I wasn’t built for war.”

“It doesn’t matter what you were _built_ for,” snapped Megatron, then offlined his optics briefly, his face smoothing as he hid his emotions. “When will you go?”

"Not now." Rung reached across the desk, trying to take Megatron’s hand again. "Not until Aglet is trained. Not until you have a reliable medical corps. Not until you can do without me."

"So never." Megatron's smile was strained as he allowed Rung’s fingers to twine with his. He'd clearly hoped Rung would deny it. But Rung didn't lie if he could help it, and he didn't want to see Starscream punished for telling the truth. Even if Starscream had only done it in order to cause trouble. Megatron had punished him enough already.

"What can I do to keep you a little longer?" asked Megatron. "I want you to be happy here."

Rung took the question seriously. He knew Megatron meant it seriously, that he somehow thought Rung was worth keeping. Megatron would at least attempt changes, if he thought the results would outweigh the costs.

"Get Turmoil to come in for management training," Rung decided. They'd start small. In fact—"You haven't had the training either, have you? Do you have twenty kliks?"

Megatron’s optics flared. “Of course. I always have time for you.”

\---

"The fusion reactor is currently unstable, but by increasing shielding here and here—"

Starscream pointed to two apparently arbitrary points on the diagram he'd projected on the big viewscreen. Megatron sat back and let it wash over him. The rest of the command staff seemed more attentive—Rung nodded along at appropriate intervals, and Shockwave leaned forward, his optic closely following Starscream's gestures. Soundwave looked as professional as ever, though Megatron suspected him of answering field comms during Starscream's presentations.

Starscream always went on and _on_. Some combination of boasting and insecurity. It wasn't as if Megatron understood weapon development. It would be more efficient for Starscream simply to tell him the cost and the probable result of his next project, so Megatron could decide whether it was worth it. Instead Megatron had to waste time sorting the facts from the self-aggrandizement.

"Lord Megatron?" asked Starscream. "Your opinion?"

Megatron glanced up at Starscream's hungry smirk. "I'm still waiting to be impressed."

Starscream's expression froze. On Megatron's left, Rung made a small, disappointed noise.

Starscream skipped several slides in his presentation, his voice growing louder and more passionate. That's what Starscream _did_ when you pushed him. Challenge made you stronger than acceptance.

Megatron glanced at Rung. He looked even more disappointed than he'd sounded.

The management guidelines Rung had given Megatron were still on his datapad. Megatron flicked the screen on, scrolling through the bland bullet points and his own sarcastic explanatory notes. Create incentives for success. Provide meaningful constructive feedback. Respect subordinates as individuals. Offer praise and support whenever needed. Model responsibility and effective work habits.

Megatron had promised Rung that he'd make an effort to carry out the guidelines. Even in regards to Starscream. Perhaps especially in regards to Starscream—Rung had brought him up as an example several times. _Oh, Starscream would benefit from a structured feedback process. Oh, Starscream does so well when you recognize his accomplishments_.

The whole idea of management techniques in a rebel army was facile, but Megatron was inclined to follow through. He'd learned that Rung didn't ask for things he couldn't get. It was realism, not weakness; when Rung did ask for something, he expected it to be delivered. Megatron found himself unwilling to learn the consequences of failure.

"In conclusion," said Starscream, "I require a thirty percent budget increase for the new cannon design, to improve stability and reduce potential malfunctions. There. _Impressed_?"

Rung was looking at him. Megatron turned off the datapad and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. Excellent summary, Starscream, you've made your requirements very clear."

Starscream's optics widened. "I, ah, yes. Thank you."

"Questions?" asked Megatron. He was enjoying this more than he'd expected—Starscream's stunned expression was almost as good as his furious one.

"Yes." Shockwave raised a claw. "I would like to know why our Air Commander is being granted extra time and funds to pursue scientific projects, while my own research agenda is needlessly burdened by-"

"Because I'm the only one who can build this thing!" snapped Starscream. "You'd rather play around with fake energon than do something useful—"

"That's enough," said Megatron. Starscream's wings jerked back and Shockwave inclined his helm. Megatron glanced at Rung again, noting Rung’s hopeful expression before turning back to his other commanders. "There's no need to be so hostile, or so limited in how we view each other. Starscream has the necessary expertise to create the weapon. It would be foolish to deny him the opportunity, especially if it allows Shockwave more time to pursue his own important projects."

Starscream was actually shaking, his hands clamped on the edge of the conference table. Rung was _beaming_. Delicious. 

"Our resources are not infinite," said Shockwave. "Funds allocated to one area must necessarily reduce those available to others."

"Excellent point," said Megatron. "And a fine segue to the budgeting update. Soundwave, I believe you've prepared one? I'll make a decision on the cannon project after I know exactly what we'd have to sacrifice for it."

\---

The burner set clanged against the wall. It was probably dented. Starscream followed it with a magnetic mixer, which smashed, and an empty flask, which shattered. It didn't matter, he could replace them. Megatron had given Starscream a twenty percent budget increase, and he only needed half of that. He'd expected to be denied a single credit. He'd come prepared with logic, evidence, and all the blackmail he could gather, and Megatron had just _given_ him the funds. Like Megatron didn't _care_.

Starscream picked up another flask.

"Please don't," said Rung, from the lab's doorway. 

Starscream threw the flask. Destroying it didn't make him feel better, but that just meant he needed to throw something bigger.

"We could go to my office," suggested Rung. "I have some stress balls—"

"I don't want your stress balls!" Starscream's voice was edged with feedback, and he had to manually reduce his volume to prevent his voicebox from blowing out. Again. "Why are you here? Go away."

"You seemed upset after the meeting." Rung leaned into Starscream's line of sight. "I thought you might want to talk about it."

"I don't," said Starscream. Rung's expression was open and sympathetic. Starscream _hated_ him. "This is your fault!"

Rung didn't look frightened, or angry, or any of the things Starscream wanted. "What's my fault?"

"The compliments," hissed Starscream. "Megatron complimented me six times during the meeting, and he looked at you for approval every single time. Like a good soldier following orders."

"Hmm." Rung was standing in front of Starscream now, peering up into Starscream's face. "Do you not like it when Megatron praises you?"

"Not like this!" Starscream stepped forward, crowding Rung against the lab table. "Not because you told him to."

Megatron's praise was valuable because it had to be ripped from his spark. Starscream had learned that early on. Megatron didn't acknowledge effort or adequacy, you had to be perfect. And Starscream _would_ be perfect.

Starscream had a fantasy—a small one, something to keep him going when it was all becoming too difficult. Megatron on his knees, defeated and forced to beg for Starscream's mercy. Megatron would be bad at it. He'd snarl and threaten despite his obvious powerlessness. But finally he'd have no other choice but to recognize Starscream's brilliance.

Sometimes, Starscream killed Megatron. In the fantasy. Sometimes he did... other things. Starscream leaned forward, his claws scraping against the table, his plating ghosting against Rung's armor.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Rung. 

"Killing Megatron," said Starscream. 

Rung's expression didn't change. "It's a management technique," he said, gently. "You remember? I gave you the data upload, when you couldn't find the time to do the training in person."

"I delegated it to Thundercracker," said Starscream. "That's a management technique too, isn't it?"

"That's not—" Rung briefly looked exasperated, but then he hid it under that infuriating calm. "I'll explain it now. Creating a positive environment reduces stress and improves productivity. Megatron's recognition and acknowledgment of your work is part of that. As Megatron gets into the habit of providing support, you'll get in the habit of receiving it. You'll both benefit."

"But he doesn't mean it," said Starscream.

Rung shrugged. "Thoughts follow action. Eventually he will."

"Processors don't _work_ that way," snapped Starscream, and then flinched. But Rung didn't say 'don't be an idiot,' or 'which of us has a degree in psychiatry?'

Instead Rung just nodded to himself and said "how do you think processors work?"

Starscream scowled. "Stop asking me questions. You're not going to make me feel any better, and neither will Megatron's pandering."

"All right." Rung reached up a hand, brushing his knuckles against Starscream's cheek before Starscream remembered himself and pulled away. "Just indulge us for a little while. As a favor to me."

"Favors have to be repaid," Starscream reminded him, but Rung just smiled. Like he could afford to give things away.

\---

"I think it's going well," said Rung, a little breathless. "Have you noticed a difference?"

Megatron had. Yesterday he'd watched Starscream's weapons demonstration. Starscream had vaporized a few asteroids, with no complications and an impressively low fuel cost. Normally Megatron would have grunted and turned away, and Starscream would have twisted himself into knots trying to make the already improved fusion cannon even better, bigger, more destructive. Strength through adversity.

Instead, without thinking about it, Megatron had said "excellent work." And Starscream had smiled. Just for an astrosecond, before his wings hunched defensively and he started ranting about Shockwave's alleged attempts at sabotage. But the smile had been there, painfully genuine.

Megatron would die before he said any of that out loud. He buried his tongue in Rung's valve channel instead, the bridge of his nose caressing Rung's anterior node.

Rung gasped, his back arching against his desk. "Oh, that's good. Starscream's recharging more often. Air force complaints about workplace hostility have gone down. And I think his work quality is improving, although I admit I'm not an expert in—"

Megatron pushed his chair back, holding Rung's hips in place when they tried to jerk up and follow. "Do you talk about Starscream this much when _he's_ fragging you? No wonder he likes you."

Rung gazed up at him, mouth twisted with something resembling contrition. Megatron refused to be drawn in by it.

"I'm sorry," said Rung.

Megatron _refused_. "I never asked for exclusivity." He'd expected it, but he hadn't asked.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you," clarified Rung. "I'm sorry you had to hear it from Starscream in one of his moods. I suppose that's what happened? Was it when he told you I was leaving?"

_Your little toy is abandoning you! He's already shopping around for a new master, just waiting for an opportunity to be taken. His valve is sinfully tight, isn't it? And you thought it was yours? All the energon running to your spike must have starved your logic centers._

"It doesn't matter," said Megatron. "I'm not interested in discussing Starscream while we're... involved." He dragged his thumb through the wet mess of Rung's valve to emphasize his point.

Rung shuddered, his thighs closing to trap Megatron's hand in place. "That's very reasonable. I only wanted to tell you how much I appreciated the adjustments you've made. It's not easy to try something new."

Megatron felt a flush of warmth pass through his systems. He glared at Rung, but Rung's optics were offline and his hips were shifting, little circles grinding Rung's node against Megatron's thumb. Rung's face was so delicate, without his glasses. They were on the floor somewhere, discarded nearly a joor ago. Megatron intended to step on them.

Megatron wrapped his free hand around Rung's thigh, spreading Rung's legs again. Rung whimpered, but Megatron needed the room to work. Needed to press two fingers into Rung's delicate valve, needed to see where Rung's anterior node glimmered under Megatron's thumb, needed—

"Tell me you like this," said Megatron.

"Yes," said Rung. "Yes, I do, very—"

"Tell me it's better." Megatron added a third finger. "Better than anything Starscream can give you."

"It's—" Rung's fans whined. "It's good—"

There was a very distinctive laugh. Megatron looked up, teeth grinding with irritation.

"You wouldn't ask the good doctor to lie, would you?" purred Starscream.

Megatron would have done something rash if his hands hadn't been occupied. "That door was locked."

"Was it?" Starscream stepped fully into the office, closing the door after him. "Wasting the CMO's time during his shift... How unprofessional. What if someone needed to see him?"

Rung pushed himself up on his elbows, the motion shifting Megatron's fingers in his valve. "Is someone waiting?"

"Just me." Starscream smiled, more confident than he'd been in stellar cycles. Megatron itched to knock him down a peg. "I heard my name in passing and thought I'd pop in."

"Oh." Rung reclined back onto the desk. His optics were online again, dazzlingly blue in his otherwise ordinary office. "Would you like to join us? If Megatron doesn't mind."

Rage wrapped around Megatron's voicebox and squeezed. He couldn't force any words past the choking anger, and Starscream took advantage of the reprieve by rounding the desk and pushing Megatron out of the way. 

"Here." Starscream crouched a little, easing Rung's legs onto his shoulders. "Let me show you how it's done."

Rung's valve was still gaping from Megatron's fingers. Starscream licked over it, then closed his lips over Rung's anterior node and sucked. 

Rung jerked up, heels kicking against the base of Starscream's wings. Starscream hummed, taking another long lick of Rung's valve, before letting his sharp teeth graze over the sensitive mesh immediately beneath Rung's node. Rung moaned and overloaded in a small gush of lubricant.

The lubricant on Megatron's hand was drying, tacky in some places and flaking off in others. He contemplated getting up and leaving, or possibly setting the office on fire.

Then Rung onlined his optics and winked at him.

"Good mech," said Rung. "Very good. Can you give me another overload like that?"

Starscream made a ridiculous squeaking noise and started to pull away, but Rung laid one hand on his helm. Not forcing Starscream to stay still, Rung wasn't strong enough for that. Simply encouraging Starscream to remain.

"That's it." Rung stroked Starscream's helm as the wet sounds of valve eating resumed. "You're so good at this, Starscream. I love the way you make me feel. Can you suck—yes, there, very good. Perfect."

Starscream whimpered, and his legs buckled. It seemed natural for Megatron to pull his chair a little closer, to guide Starscream down to sit on his knee without pulling Starscream away from Rung’s frame. Rung was still murmuring praise as Starscream began to grind his closed interface panel against Megatron's thigh.

Rung winked at Megatron again. Megatron frowned in reply. He wasn't an idiot, he could see an object lesson when it was being performed right in front of him.

That didn't mean he agreed with what was being taught.

Starscream was at the perfect height for Megatron to murmur into his audial: "You look like you were built for this."

Starscream snarled, but Megatron put his dirty hand on Starscream's neck, keeping him pressed close against Rung's valve. "Tanks made to process lubricant instead of energon," Megatron said, voice low enough that Rung could pretend he didn't hear it. "You could do this for joors, couldn't you? Orns. I'll relieve you from your other duties, don't worry. You can be Rung's assistant. Sit at his feet and think of nothing but service."

Starscream moaned into Rung's valve, and Rung tried to pull him closer with his legs over Starscream's shoulders.

"Good," gasped Rung. "You're good, you're good, don't listen—"

"Has Rung had your valve yet?" asked Megatron. "I imagine it's too loose to grip his spike properly, but some mechs like that."

Starscream arched, face pressing into Rung's valve as he tried to get deeper, panel pressing into Megatron's leg as he tried to get more friction.

"Just like that." Rung's voice was climbing in pitch as he neared his second overload. "Good, good, you use your mouth so _well_ —"

"Built for this," repeated Megatron. "Are you going to overload with your panel still closed? Are you that desperate?" 

"Shut up!" wailed Rung, and Starscream overloaded. Lubricant dripped from Starscream's panel seams, smearing across Megatron's plating. Starscream was still shaking as he latched onto Rung's node with lips and teeth, sucking hard until he'd pulled Rung over the edge with him. Charge danced across valve and Starscream's face, bridged by the film of lubricant decorating Starscream's cheeks.

Starscream slumped against the desk, helm cushioned by Rung's inner thigh. Rung's valve was wide open, clenching and sparking with the aftershocks of overload. Megatron had to manually lock his array cover as it repeatedly attempted to retract.

"Inconclusive," Megatron decided. "Further testing necessary. Let's move this to a berth."

"This isn't an experiment," groaned Rung.

"Don't you believe in evidence-based psychiatry?" asked Megatron. "I'm disappointed in you, Doctor."

Rung gave Megatron a very unamused look, and opened his mouth to say something cutting.

"Berth," interrupted Starscream, startling Megatron with his coherence. Starscream's fingers were circling Rung's spike housing. "I'm not _loose_. Show you."

"You see, Rung? You're out-voted." Megatron pushed Starscream to his feet and picked Rung up off the desk as he stood. "Come on."

"This isn't a democracy," said Rung, hanging over Megatron's shoulder.

"No, it's an army," agreed Megatron. "And I'm in charge."

\---

Megatron's berth wasn't actually big enough for all three of them, but no one seemed inclined to move. Starscream had passed out during the fourth round, and though he'd quickly onlined again it had been with half his processor functions in power-save mode. He'd watched with dim optics as Megatron rode Rung to that final blistering overload, then curled up against Rung and fallen into recharge.

Megatron was on Rung's other side, leg thrown over Rung's hips and one hand draped over Rung's neck. The tips of his fingers curled to brush the sensitive plating of Rung's nape. Megatron had watched Starscream sleep for almost fifteen kliks before he'd finally laid down, and Rung wasn't convinced that Megatron was actually recharging despite his even vents and relaxed plating.

Rung was certain that Starscream wouldn't have stayed if his processor had been fully functional and his legs still capable of supporting his weight. Not in Megatron's quarters, with Megatron looming over him. Rung would have to wake Starscream up in a few joors and help him escape to his own quarters, or else weather the inevitable panic attack poorly disguised as a tantrum. 

Rung huffed at himself. He was supposed to be planning his exit strategy. Finding a way to gently extricate himself, before he was in too deep and any departure would leave a painfully raw wound. He'd wanted Megatron to remember his ideals. He'd wanted Starscream to walk away. But you couldn't force mechs to make the better choice, no matter how much you _wanted_ it. Rung would settle for leaving the Decepticons a little healthier and a little more stable than he'd found them. 

Instead he'd let himself get distracted by meetings and interface and proving Megatron wrong. Just like Aglet, running after his commander's approval and pushing his patients ahead of him.

Where were his glasses? Had he left them in the office? Rung wanted them. He felt exposed, the air too cold where it brushed his face.

"Recharge," grumbled Megatron. "Or else Starscream will call you a hypocrite."

"He already does," murmured Rung.

Megatron onlined his optics. Rung couldn't actually see his face, not with Megatron's chin tucked against Rung's crest. But he could see the red light gleaming off his own chest armor and the back of Starscream's helm.

"You're thinking too much," said Megatron. "Your spark's flaring."

Rung couldn't see that either. Starscream's face was mashed against Rung's glass, and as Rung considered him Starscream whined and squirmed, pressing even closer.

"See? You're disturbing Starscream." Megatron stroked his fingers along Rung's neck. "Turn your processor off. A long defrag will do you good."

"Hmm." Rung couldn't help it—he arched into the contact, feeling Starscream shift again to rest more of his weight on Rung's frame and stop his pillow from escaping. "You give excellent advice some times."

"Only the best for my favorite servant," said Megatron. "Recharge now. We'll still be here in the morning."

And, as usual, Rung allowed himself to forget about the consequences. Allowed himself to be lulled into complacency. Allowed himself to fall into standby with Starscream's weight on his spark and Megatron's optics lighting his frame.

They'd still be there in the morning. That was the problem, wasn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, consider sharing it on [Tumblr](http://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/183596733324/steps-to-success-neveralarch-the-transformers), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1108526545063366656), or [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/99146.html).


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